There is a ritual I love, and it starts with a cigarette and a silk robe and nowhere to be. I light it slowly, I take that first long drag, and I let the smoke curl out of my mouth while I settle back against my pillows. Everything about this moment is deliberate.
Smoking makes me breathe differently. Deeper. Slower. More aware of my own body. I feel the inhale fill my chest, I feel the exhale leave my lips, and somewhere in that rhythm I start to feel sensual in a way that sneaks up on me. By the third drag, I am touching myself without really deciding to.
I want to describe this to you because I think you will understand. The way the smoke rises in the lamplight. The way my robe has slipped open and I have not bothered to fix it. The way my voice gets a little husky, a little lower, when I talk to you with a cigarette between my fingers.
There is something undeniably sexy about a woman who smokes slowly. It is the patience of it. The unhurried pleasure. I am not smoking because I need to. I am smoking because I love the way it makes me feel: languid, indulgent, completely in my body and completely unconcerned with the clock.
I will take a long drag and hold it, and you will hear the pause, and then I will exhale into the phone and tell you what I am doing with my free hand. The smoke and the sensation mix together in my head until I cannot tell which one is making me dizzy. It does not matter. I like the dizziness.
Ash falls, I brush it away, I take another drag. My breathing is deep and even and then it is not even at all. I am getting close, and the cigarette is getting short, and I am going to finish both at the same time if I time it right. I usually time it right.
People underestimate the sensuality of patience. A cigarette cannot be rushed. Neither can I. We burn slowly, we savor every moment, and we never apologize for taking our time. If you understand that, you will understand me completely.
Call the dispatcher and ask for Ella. I will light up, settle back, and take you with me, one slow breath at a time.
Yours, Ella